


Bro idek it's not even done

by ohyeetpickitup (punkrockkonel)



Series: Earth 24 [2]
Category: DCU, Super Sons (Comics), Superboy (Comics), Superman - All Media Types, Young Justice (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Bonding, Crying, Gen, Sickfic, Vomiting, WIP, also it's unedited and I wrote it in an hour then got bored, cause those just go together in my book, i guess, i've never vomited so i don't know if this is realistic, just a bro puking and his little bro trying to figure out why the hell puke-bro is now crying, this isn't even done like as a chapter i'm so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 02:03:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17992763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkrockkonel/pseuds/ohyeetpickitup
Summary: Kon pukes and cries and Jon's just kind of there, I guess.There's no logical reason for any of it.Overall quality is like -80/10





	Bro idek it's not even done

**Author's Note:**

> I got bored and I was working on a multi-chapter fic and this is kind of a part of it but idk if it'll fit with the rest so it's pretty much standalone and I didn't bother writing an ending, but I probably will later. I haven't edited either. It's a trainwreck, truly. Probably OOC. Idk man.
> 
> I don't know what the fuck I'm doing.
> 
> Anyway the whole big thing is that I wanted to write Kon getting sick bc he's half-human so it's kind of plausible, so I gave him mono, used WebMD like a dumb cunt, and wrote some bullshit. This is just a throw-up-then-break-down scene. Not sure why it happened tbh. I assume people cry when they puke. It seems like something people would cry about. Idk, I haven't done it.

It was 03:00, and Kon just wanted to go the _fuck_ to sleep. He was so _fucking_ tired, and his head hurt so _fucking_ much, and _nothing_ was worth being awake right now. He would’ve sacrificed a fucking _goat_ , in that moment, if it meant falling asleep.

 

But first it was too cold, and then Clark came in to check on him and said his fever was too high to have that many blankets, and now it didn’t matter that he’d thrown all of them off, even the sheet; he was _too fucking hot_ \-- his eyes felt like they were being dry-roasted and boiled simultaneously, his body wouldn’t stop shaking. His stomach was cramping with hunger pains because he hadn't been able to keep anything more than a few crackers down in the past two days, and even with only that in his system, he _still_ thought he was probably going to puke. His throat was raw, like someone had reached down into his esophagus and started clawing until it was all just some gross, phlegmy _gorefest_. He was bloated, and weak, and achy, and he wanted to _die_.

 

And he was _tired_.

 

But that one only took precedence because if he went to sleep, he wouldn’t have to endure the rest of it, and it might not be as bad when he woke up… though based on the experience so far, that was just wishful thinking.

 

Kon moved to lay on his side, to curl in on himself in a _stupid_ attempt to escape the agony, gasping when a hard throb of protest emanated from his upper left abdomen. Right. _Swollen spleen_. How could he forget…

 

_What kind of fucking symptom was that?_

 

And then, just to do him in entirely, his stomach lurched. _Badly_.

 

It gurgled, and he knew what was coming, and he threw himself upright, squeezing his eyes shut to block out the blinding pain in his head from _that_ move. Kon whimpered as the cerebral smarting began to subside, and attempted to muster enough strength to stand.

 

He was going to vomit, and he was _not_ going to vomit in his bedroom.

 

But his legs wouldn’t steady. His limbs felt like half-cooked noodles: tense, but oh-so pliable, too jittery to keep him vertical. He dropped back onto his bed, quaking.

 

His breath caught, and he felt the bile beginning to inch its way backward through his digestive system. No no no _nononono_ \--

 

“ _Clark_ \--” It was a last-ditch, cut off by his breath doing that _thing_ again and probably not even loud enough to get past his doorway, but Clark had super-hearing, so he hoped it would do some good.

 

(Don’t get him wrong, he really didn’t want anyone to see him like this, but he couldn’t up-chuck in his room. He didn’t even have a usable trash can. )

 

He sat, hunched over, trying to hold back what his body was trying so desperately to expel, and _Jon_ opened his door.

 

“Kon?”

 

Jon stared at his older brother, in possibly the most humiliating position he had ever seen of Kon, and Kon wanted to yell at him to get out, but his abs were tightening, and he knew he had seconds at this point, so he’d take what he could get.

 

He croaked out, rushed, “ _Get a bucket_.” He could hardly breathe. His heart raced, eyes clamped shut, trembling and sweating through his boxers, with his shoulders drawn in, _pleading to Rao_ that Jon would be fast enough, but then he hiccupped, and retched…

 

And Jon was _rightfully_ pissed that Kon didn’t see when he pulled this _epic_ dive thing to get the empty waste basket under his brother’s mouth before anything hit the floor, but in Kon’s defense, he was, y’know, puking.

 

God, he _hated_ puking.

 

His stomach muscles cramped, tightening torturously and spasming, forcing water and bile up through his esophagus, burning, _burning_ , and he tried -- he tried _so hard_ to keep it down, so Jon wouldn’t see him so _weak_ , but his body wouldn’t listen and it just _kept coming_ and _no_ he didn’t want this no _no nononononono_ \--

 

It felt like a thousand tiny little knives stabbing inside his already-scratched-raw throat.

 

Vomit doesn’t give a shit about anyone’s embarrassment.

 

It tasted _rancid_ , rocketing from his seizing abdomen to his cracked, dry lips. Kon would’ve gagged at the feeling of it all if he weren’t already doing much worse. And it just… kept coming, first water, because Clark had put a lot of emphasis on hydration, then just his fucking _stomach acid_ , which hurt. _A lot._ Kryptonians have _significantly_ more potent digestive acids than Terrans. And it started on his throat and lips like an ache, then quickly took on a rapidly increasing singeing quality, and his eyes welled with tears at the sensation. Then he was just dry-heaving. _He couldn’t breathe_. Between the retching and the tension in his torso, he gasped for air, pleading to any god that would listen to _let this fucking end!_

 

He sobbed. Tears streamed down his face. His shoulders shook, and his abdomen clenched tightly, spasming. He hoped it was over. There was nothing left to bring up, not that his stomach had let that stop it in the minutes preceding. He was just in so much pain; his throat, lips, stomach and tightly-wound muscles. And his little brother, who he hardly even knew, had seen _all of it_.

 

He wanted to die.

 

“Kon? Why are you crying? Do you need something? Are you hurt?” Jon was such a _good_ freaking kid. And he looked up to Kon. He shouldn’t have seen that.

 

Kon sobbed again, swallowing stiffly. Unsteady, he drew in a single trembling breath.

 

“Are you done?” Jon was closer now. He gently took the bin from Kon’s weak grip. Kon nodded.

 

“‘M sorry you had t’ see that, Jonno,” Kon mumbled. It hurt to talk.

 

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault you’re sick.” He stood between Kon’s legs, where the bin had been. Hunched over, it was almost like Kon was smaller than him.

 

“Could’a avoided it,” His voice had dropped even lower, but it still scraped against his stinging throat in all the wrong ways.

 

“No, you couldn’t’ve.”

 

Jon was so much like Clark. Kon shuddered, and more tears fell down his flushed cheeks. He didn’t know why he was crying anymore. It wasn’t the pain, but he felt like he was losing something, like he was... mourning his brother's view of him, and he was just _so_ overwhelmed.

 

Jon’s scrawny arms fell around Kon’s shoulders, squeezing the elder into a tight hug. “You’re too old to cry,” he muttered against Kon’s hair. Kon kept muttering apologies through his feverish, exhausted haze. He’d let Jon down. He couldn’t be a good hero if he couldn’t even be a good brother. He was too old to cry... but there he was.

 

“Stop saying you’re sorry, dude. You didn’t even do anything except throw up.”

 

Kon paused, gathered himself.

 

“Thanks, Jonno...”

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> Sorry. 
> 
> Anyway, I might finish it. Chances are good, 'cause if I don't it'll annoy me and I have to finish the big thing anyway. I have ulterior motives. Give it a week.


End file.
